he lives in 80302; she's living in 62656.
he runs up mountainsides barefoot,
she writes novels about rural Illinois
where her grandparents live.
She spent every summer there
where the reflection of the full Moon
rippled across window glass that had seen
countless blistering hot and bitter cold
days, he would never understand
how we are formed through generations
of imperceptible movement, he who jumps
from rock to rock, she moves slowly
through the flat horizons of 62656, along
well ordered rows of corn stalks, not carving
wide turns in freshly fallen powder.
They will never meet, hundreds of miles apart,
thousands of zip codes distant.
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